


in sickness or health

by icarusinflight



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Amnesia, Bittersweet, Bittersweet Ending, Dean takes a lot of knocks to the head and i think about that a lot, M/M, Memory Loss, Traumatic Brain Injury, happiness too, sadness abounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-30 05:03:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14489391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icarusinflight/pseuds/icarusinflight
Summary: “This means forever,” he tells Dean, “this means in sickness and in health and it means I’ll never leave you, never again.”A series of snippets in a world where Dean's memory sometimes fails him





	in sickness or health

**Author's Note:**

> this was written for the DeanCas Writing challenge - for the prompt: _Amnesia_
> 
> I have thought so many times about the hits they take to the head, every time they lose consciousness, or get a concussion. The things have consequences.
> 
> Warning: this will be sad.  
> Thanks to sabrielfell for the last minute beta. you're a champ

Some days are... not great.

Cas is cooking breakfast when he hears Dean rising, and he says a prayer to a god he no longer believes answers prayers, or even listens to them. It’s a force of habit. Or of desperation. There’s nothing else he can do in this situation and he reaches out in the only way he knows how – to a god he once believed to be absolute.

Oh how wrong he was.

When Dean enters the room holding a knife in front of him, body poised ready to fight, Cas knows his prayers haven’t been answered. He quickly switches off the heat on the stove. The residual heat will continue to cook them through, even if they may end up a bit soggy – but Cas is no Dean in the kitchen anyway, and he knows the eggs would never have turned out how he wanted them.

Dean freezes when he sees him, arm holding the blade dropping in a way he knows Dean would disapprove of if he was in his right mind.

Except that’s the problem isn’t it.

“Cas,” Dean croaks, looking at him like he’s a dead man – and he realises with a pang that for him, it’s probably true, “Is that really you?”

“Yes,” He approaches Dean carefully, arms outstretched in an offering of peace, one he hopes Dean will accept, “It’s really me Dean.”

“How’d you get out man?” Dean asks, his voice wavering on the words, and that still provides Cas with so many options, so many possibilities to choose from, and it’s not till Dean adds, “I prayed for you every day man.” That he realises what time Dean’s stuck in.

After Purgatory, after Dean had fought to get them out and he’d fought to stay behind. 

He feels a renewed flush of shame, a pain deep inside at the hurt he’s caused Dean, both then and now, and a part of him wonders if he will ever really be able to atone for those deeds. If part of his curse is to relive them over and over again, to watch the man he loves struggle with them over and over again.

“An angel pulled me out,” he admits, stepping close to Dean, eyes locked on Dean’s pleading him to believe, all the while still watching the blade Dean is holding in his right hand. It’s not unusual for Dean to lash out at times like these, and he can’t afford to take a blade to the gut these days. “Dean, that was years ago though. It’s in the past.”

“Bullshit,” Dean spits, and the hand on the blade tightens, the knife jerking up in a little response, “You’re not fucking Cas, who the fuck are you?”

“I am Cas,” he implores, “I promise you. If I do the tests will you believe me?” The tight line of Dean’s jaw screams suspicion, but he nods.

He speaks the words as he does each tests.  _ Holy water _ – a splash against his arm.  _ Silver _ – another cut to join the rest.  _ Borax _ – careful to avoid the same cut, a mistake he’s made many times before.

Only when he’s completed the tests does Dean’s knife holding the hand fully relax, the sounds of the knife clattering to the floor loud in the bunker. Then he’s wrapping his arms around Castiel, dragging him in close for a hug, and it’s the first time since Dean arrived in the kitchen that he relaxes, lets himself take advantage of the strong arms and warmth around him. It’s worth it, all of it, for moments like this.

When Dean finally releases him there’s tears in his eyes, and without thinking Cas reaches out to stroke away the ones pooling in the corner of his eyes.

Dean doesn’t flinch, but he does look up at Cas with confusion, and it’s this moment that pulls at his heart. Touches they both fought so hard for which are now difficult, which never should have been difficult. 

After all Dean Winchester has done for the world, it still feels too cruel to him.

“Come on,” Cas says, “Sit down and eat your breakfast and I’ll explain everything.”

He grabs the book while Dean is eating, cold eggs on hard toast, a breakfast Dean would have never served up to anyone, but which he eats without complaint. Dean’s own journal, no longer full of monsters but just as full of demons.

He opens the journal to the section where Dean had written about Cas returning, and slides it over to Dean.

“It’s 2018,” he says, when Dean looks up at him in confusion, “you suffered a series of traumatic brain injuries over the years.” He drops his eyes from Dean’s looking down at his hands. He always gets technical now, brings out the jargon, but it never feels any better. “All the hits you took, the concussions you suffered, they took their toll on your brain.” Cas swallows, steadies himself for the next part, the hardest part. “You suffer from memory loss.”

* * *

 

There had been signs of course. Signs that Cas and Sam had noticed – but not realised. At the time. They’d been trying to step back from hunting. Something Dean had wanted for Sam for a long time, but hadn’t ever considered for himself. When Sam and Eileen started a family, they’d agreed to take a step back, all too aware of what happened to children raised in the hunter way. But part of Sam’s deal for getting out was Dean stepping back. Dean had been getting close to forty, and hunters don’t exactly die of old age.

Cas feels like these were the times where he should have noticed earlier. But he’d been so distracted by the happiness of everything he did have, that he never stopped to think about the things he could lose. Dean hunting less had felt like it had closed that possibility down – that now they would have each other until they were old and grey, and there was nothing he wanted more. 

He never could have imagined he would lose Dean in other ways.

It started small, things like books not being where Dean said he’d left them, and mistakes, silly things like the oven left on overnight (thankfully empty). Cas could see it sometimes when Dean would take longer, need more time to think something through, as if his brain was a computer with too many programs open, every program taking its toll and leaving Dean with limited processing ability.

But none of these had been obvious signs, none had been the flashing red flag Cas had expected – the one he was so used to for things of impending doom.

It was Dean who picked it up first.

Dean who had always been meticulous in his journal keeping, noticed it.

“I think I’m losing it Cas,” he’d said one morning, and Cas – who’d thought it was a joke – had laughed it off, wrapping his arms around Dean’s shoulders and placing a messy kiss to his lips, bringing his hands up to tangle in Dean’s hair.

Dean had allowed the kiss, had melted into it. But neither the kiss, nor the handjob Cas had given him then had done anything to wipe the worry from Dean’s brows. 

He should have listened then.

* * *

 

Some days are worse.

Cas is cleaning up when he hears the sounds of Dean moving in the bedroom. Dean is always up later now, something the doctor had given a technical term for but Cas puts down to Dean’s brain struggling to catch up. Cas always places a kiss on his forehead, says a pointless prayer and starts his day, making sure to keep close to the bedroom so he’ll be awake when Dean does move. 

When he hears a thump, and a yelp, Cas drops the clothes in his hands and runs towards the bedroom door. Feet pounding against the bunker floor, he grips the door frame as he swings round the door, turning to see – 

He catches a fist in the face which sends him sprawling back, his footing had been unstable, too concerned with Dean to be anticipating an attack.

“Who the fuck are you?” Dean yells, voice panicked. Cas feels his own panic flash through him, feels it like he feels the pain in his cheekbone where Dean’s fist had connected. 

He doesn’t have words to answer, doesn’t have anything he can say to explain.

Then before Cas could find the words Dean is off, sprinting out past him, running down the hallway. The only consolation is that Dean is running further into the bunker instead of towards the exit. Dean is running towards the gun range, and the garage. 

He takes a moment, leaning his head back against the cold wall, and releases a heavy sigh, the only thing stopping him from choking out a sob.

This had happened before. He knows what to do. He needs to get Sam.

(Later, Sam found Dean in the impala. Even when he can’t remember where his is he can somehow find his baby. He’d been laid out on the backseat and listening to led zeppelin with his shotgun held tight in his hands. They ended up spending most of the day in the impala, sharing memories they both still had, and some that only one of them kept. When the time came for them to sleep Sam  led Dean down to one of the rooms with two beds, and slept with him, sending Cas a message to let him know where they were and that they were okay.

Cas went to sleep in a bed too big and cold and tried not to cry.)

* * *

 

In the end Dean takes himself to the doctors. Cas doesn’t find out about it until later. Dean had left with a “Just grabbing some groceries, might go to the hardware store” and Cas had given him a kiss and wave, had let him walk out that door not knowing that things would never be the same again.

The routine grocery shop goes long, and when the light of the day starts to fade Cas starts to worry. Checks the police radio they still keep to listen for any reports of car accidents. Sends Dean texts which escalate in concern, and then phone calls which still remain unanswered.

It’s Sam that replies eventually. A simple,  _ ‘Dean’s here, he’s safe, I’ll update you when I can’ _ . The text message leaves Cas with more questions than it answers, and it doesn’t help him feel any better, but his phone calls to Sam go unanswered too.

The next day Dean and Sam return to the bunker, Dean looking more than a little sheepish. They sit Cas down, give him flyers and spout words that stumble off the tongue but fly over his head. Words like  _ ‘concussions’ _ and  _ ‘traumatic brain injury’. _ It’s the words,  _ ‘no cure’ _ which do sink in, which leave him gasping for air, falling from the chair and wrapping his arms around his knees, the world closing in around him.

And of course it’s Dean who helps him, who grabs his hand and places it over his own chest. Dean who counts out the breaths. Dean who saves him when he’s the one who needs saving, and this time there’s nothing Cas can do about it.

* * *

 

Some days are better.

Cas wakes to a hand on his stomach, tracing slow patterns on his skin. There’s a body close behind him, and without thought he pushes back into it, into the warmth, and he hears a soft chuckle near his ear.

“Mornin sunshine,” Dean says, and it’s the words which shock Cas awake, which has him turning to face Dean, looking with hope for the recognition he so often finds lacking.

Dean’s face has an easy smile on it – one Cas has seen more times than he can count – and it may be the most beautiful  thing he’s ever seen. There’s no sign of distress on Dean’s face, he just looks happy, and feels the delight run through his body, feels it like a visceral thing. 

He sends a prayer of thanks to anyone who listens, and rolls, capturing Dean’s mouth with his own, bringing his hands up to Dean’s neck and cheeks to hold. Not breaking the kiss, he slings a leg over Dean, moving to straddle him in the bed as he deepens the kiss, feeling Dean’s tongue bump against his as he groans. Dean’s hands come up to grip at his hips, holding him tight and close.

“Someone’s eager,” Dean says when Cas does finally break the kiss to gasp for air. He leans back, feeling Dean’s cock bumping against his ass, reassuring Cas that he’s not the only one excited by the kiss.

“I am,” Cas agrees, rolling his hips back against Dean’s groin, delighting in the groan Dean releases. Dean grips him tighter, forcing him to grind down. It’s been too long. Too long since they’ve had a good morning, too long since they kissed like this, too long since they’ve had sex and Cas wants it, wants it enough that he can taste it. 

He’d rather taste Dean instead, so he leans back to capture Dean’s lips again, capturing his moans and gasps as Cas grinds down against his groin. 

They have the type of indulgent lazy morning sex that leaves you hot and sticky, and warms him inside. When Dean pulls him down to the bed, wrapping an arm around him to keep in the bed Cas doesn’t fight it, just goes with and lets Dean pull him down and sleep pull him under. 

It’s a perfect morning.

* * *

 

“You should leave me. Put me in a home or something and go on with your life,” Dean says, one day when he forgets they’re married, forgets they ever even dated. Cas finds him out on the grass looking up at the stars with tears in his eyes. 

“Never,” Cas refutes. Like there was ever any question. There’s no world in which he leaves Dean – not again anyway.

He takes Dean’s hand in his own, holds it up to show off the gold ring, holds Dean’s hand between both of his own. His own ring brushes against Dean’s, and he brings it up to show them both to Dean, the rings shining in the moonlight.

“This means forever,” he tells Dean, “this means in sickness and in health and it means I’ll never leave you, never again.”

He doesn’t tell Dean, but he’ll never stop looking for a cure, or praying for help. But it doesn’t matter. Even if this is it, even if this is how it’ll be till the end of his days, he’ll take it.

He’ll take Dean, any which way he can have him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Comments and Kudos give me life  
> Find me at tumblr at [candybarrnerd](http://candybarrnerd.tumblr.com/)


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